


Games Boys Play

by pantswarrior



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Kink Meme, Minor Character(s), Multi, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-22
Updated: 2009-09-21
Packaged: 2017-10-03 17:25:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantswarrior/pseuds/pantswarrior
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk's been told not to let any upperclassmen get to him with their pranks, and especially not Finnegan - he's dangerous. But after being pushed too far, too many times, Kirk discovers that Finnegan's kind of danger can be strangely appealing. (For a kink meme prompt that requested either an abusive relationship between them, or BDSM... instead, it wound up falling somewhere in between.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

His father had warned him well before he left home. He'd told Jim that the first year would be hard, told him about the hazing. Serving in Starfleet was hardly a walk in the park, and the upperclassmen made sure all the new recruits were aware of it.

"Don't fall for it," he'd cautioned Jim. "They're trying to weed out the weak from the strong, that's all. If you slip up, if you buckle under their pressure, they'll just push you harder, make you _prove_ whether or not you're ready for service. Just be patient, wait it out - it'll make them respect you, as a man and as an equal."

What his father said had proven true during his first months at the Academy; there wasn't anyone in Jim's dorm who hadn't been pranked, pushed around, or somehow publically humiliated. Those who made a fuss over it were rewarded with worse, while those who suffered in silence were eventually left alone. So far, Jim was one of the latter, but often it seemed as if he wouldn't have been any worse off if he'd been the former.

He knew exactly why, too. It was because it had been his rotten luck to come to the attention of one particular upperclassman, a boy (legally a man, but Jim couldn't think of him by any term that implied maturity) named Finnegan. Finnegan wasn't like the other tricksters, setting up his pranks and disappearing to avoid blame - he was always right there laughing when the hammer fell. Or the bucket of water, as the case may be, or the meal tray, or the upper bunk. Always, Finnegan was pointing and laughing, maybe even taunting Jim as he silently picked up the pieces.

It wasn't the first time he'd dealt with bullies, of course. When you were as smart and as serious about your education as Jim Kirk, your peers noticed you, and some of them thought they knew exactly what to do with show-offs and know-it-alls and teacher's-pets. Jim had thought it wise long ago to educate himself in the art of self-defense - but what defense was there when the bully never laid a hand on you?

And it was a good thing, judging by what Ruth told him. Funny how a freshman acquiring an upperclassman as his girlfriend made the bullies leave him alone - everyone except Finnegan, whose behavior towards him only grew more antagonistic. He was of a mind to just give the guy one good, solid punch for his troubles, just so he'd get the idea that Jim Kirk was no pushover, but Ruth tried to put that idea to rest quickly.

"Don't ever lay a hand on Finnegan," she warned him, the two of them lounging together beneath a tree on the far corner of campus late Friday night. "That's exactly what he's pushing for. He's a smart one, that Finnegan - he won't start a fight, but if someone else starts one, he's all too happy to finish it. You weren't here last year, when he was harassing another boy. Joshua finally punched him, right in the face, but by the time the fight was broken up, he was the one who had to be rushed off to the medics - and then he was the one who got the reprimand, for starting fights. Finnegan claimed he'd only acted in self-defense, and even Joshua had to admit he'd thrown the first punch."

Jim considered this. "I see what you mean - thanks for the tip."

"What kind of girlfriend would I be if I didn't look out for you?" Ruth reasoned.

"A very beautiful one," Jim told her, tracing her cheek with the pad of his thumb, "regardless of her intent."

She smiled at him. "Then I suggest you stop thinking about Finnegan and his tricks," she told him, reaching out to touch his face in turn, "and start thinking about me."

"Hard to start when you never stop," Jim murmured, taking her hand in his and kissing it.

Ruth was specializing in design technologies - giving form to function, streamlining everything from dress uniforms to starships. She knew all about aerodynamics and spacial relations, how the human body moved and what it required to work at its full capacity, how to make it look good while doing so. She applied her knowledge in her leisure time as well; there was no fumbling with her buttons, no wrestling with sleeves or leggings on her part, and the arch of her back molded them together perfectly. Jim was walking on air all weekend.

His good mood was significantly deflated, however, when he returned to the classrooms on Monday and found that they had not been alone under that tree. Right there on the monitors that loomed above the classroom, in place of the notes from his first course of the day, was a slideshow full of pictures of him and Ruth, starting with the two of them lounging under that tree, ending with a shot of his bare backside in the air. The other cadets were looking at him and snickering behind their hands as he stiffly seated himself and kept his eyes straight ahead. Worst of all was that he could do nothing about it before the instructor arrived and discovered the prank as well. Fortunately, she did nothing aside glaring around at the class - and giving him a look that managed to be both sympathetic and slightly dangerous as her eyes fell upon him - then correcting the issue without a word.

It would have been nearly impossible to tell who did it, though he had some ideas. They were very nearly confirmed by the fact that Finnegan was waiting outside the classroom, leaning against the wall with a broad smirk. "'Ello, Jimmy-boy! Ain't it a drag, bein' back at school after a nice weekend? You _did_ have a nice weekend, di'nt ya?"

Jim thought of Ruth, and what might happen to her because of this, and clenched a fist. And then he thought of Ruth, what she had told him about Finnegan, and forcibly unclenched it, walking on. "I had a very nice weekend, yes," he said, facing straight ahead as Finnegan fell into step beside him. "But the weekend is over, and now it's time to get back to work."

"Work, Jimmy? Work?" Finnegan inquired, patronizing, as he stepped in front of Jim, walking backwards. "Still a little young for _work_, aren't ya? Should be home with yer mama, baby."

"Starfleet seems to have taken no issue with the date of birth listed in my records," Jim said mildly, his eyes turning aside, looking anywhere but Finnegan. "I think that means I'm old enough to enlist - it would be quite an oversight if I wasn't."

"Maybe ya faked it, baby." Finnegan stopped right in front of him, forcing Jim to either stop or bump into him; Jim chose to stop. Finnegan cocked his head, looking at Jim questioningly. "They say you're a genius - I bet ya could've done it. And just look at that pretty little baby face of yers," he continued, adopting an even more patronizing tone as he dared to reach up, touch Jim's chin, tilt Jim's face towards his. "Ruthie probably likes ya just 'cause she wants a kid someday, and you're good practice. Y'know women and their biological clocks - right, Jim-baby?"

Finnegan messing with him was no big deal - Jim could take it. But... "Don't say a word about Ruth," Jim told him seriously. "And get your hands off me."

"Whatcha gonna do about it if I don't, baby?"

He was looking Jim straight in the eye, but Jim didn't flinch. He just looked back, his expression even. More even than he felt; there was something very strange about the way Finnegan was looking at him. Not just animosity, but... Something else. He wasn't sure what.

"I suppose," he began, "that I'll have to..."

Finnegan waited, smirking, still with that not-quite-identifiable look. "...step around you," Jim finished, doing so. "I do have another class to attend, you know. Wouldn't be very _mature_ of me to show up late."

To his surprise, Finnegan didn't come after him, or call out any further taunts. In fact, when Jim shot a smile over his shoulder, Finnegan was still just standing there in the middle of the walkway. Strangely enough, he looked pleased.

\---

That wasn't the end of it as Jim had hoped. The pictures resurfaced a few days later, altered. In one, a happy, smiling face was drawn on his buttocks. In another, another head was pasted onto Ruth's body - his roommate, Gary. To Jim's annoyance, Gary actually laughed out loud when he saw it.

Neither did Ruth appear to be particularly offended. "I'm not ashamed to have people know I'm your girl," she told Jim. "In fact, I'm proud. And I don't mind if other girls get to look at you, so long as they don't touch."

It had put an end to any casual, relaxed encounters in less-than-secure locations, however. They had to be careful where they spent their time together, and although Jim didn't mind spending more time in, it made for less variety. On the other hand, more comfort as well.

At least, until the night they were beaten back to his room. Jim didn't turn on the light. Gary was off on a mission for the next two weeks, spending some time behind the controls of a starship - and he didn't need to see to kiss Ruth, to find the curves of her body beneath the drape of her dress, to guide her, slow and gentle, to the bottom bunk of the bed. With the door having been closed behind them, there was only the faint glow of the streetlights through the window, and Jim would have said that even that wasn't necessary.

Therefore he had no idea at all that anything was out of the ordinary until Ruth turned her head away giving a faint yelp of surprise that didn't seem to be related at all to what Jim's hands were doing. She slipped out from beneath him, and silohuetted by the light through the window, Jim could see her hold up the hand she'd placed on his bed, peering at it, then back at the bed. "Jim, there's something..."

Jim flipped on the light, and she uttered a stifled shriek at the sight of the large red stain spread across the sheets. Jim, however, noticed at once that something was not right. "It's all right, Ruth - it's not blood." He leaned closer to get a better look...

And Ruth gasped again, just before something - presumably not her - smacked him on the rear.

"'Ello, Jim-baby!" said an unwelcome, too-familiar voice as Jim straightened, and Finnegan peeked over the edge of the top bunk. "Been waitin' for ya."

There they were, Ruth clutching the top of her dress to her chest, Jim disheveled and already missing his belt - and Finnegan was leering at them. From his own bed. Jim could feel the anger that had bubbled up every time he thought of Finnegan, for the last few months at the least, and this time it was in danger of boiling over.

"Couldn't help but notice ya never showed up at the cafeteria for dinner," Finnegan smirked at him. "Thought I'd bring you two sweethearts a little something - but oopsie, spilled it."

Tomato soup - that's what that was. The bowl was sitting overturned on the bed, in fact, now that the light was on and they could see it. "...Finnegan..." Jim growled.

"Jim, just let it go," Ruth told him, placing a hand on his arm, but he pushed it away.

"Get out of my bed, Finnegan," Jim told him. "And get out of my room. If I ever see you so much as pass my door again, I'll-"

"Don't, Jim," Ruth cautioned him.

"What're ya gonna do, Jimmy?" Finnegan asked, casually vaulting over the end of the bed, landing right next to Jim. "I wanna know."

His fist was already clenched, not that he noticed until Ruth took hold of his hand from behind. "_Go away_, Finnegan!" she ordered him. "I don't know what you're trying to prove, but all you're proving is that Jim's already more of a man than you are."

"That so, Ruthie?" Finnegan inquired. "Wouldn't know unless you tried both, would ya?"

That did it - Jim freed his hand and struck Finnegan in the jaw with a right hook. Finnegan responded as if he'd anticipated it, which he likely had, bringing his hands down together on Jim's back, shoving him towards the bunk hard enough to make him stumble and fall across it. Jim wasn't done yet, though; he got right back up and lunged at Finnegan's waist, tackling him with the intention of throwing him into the far wall. But Finnegan turned, letting Jim take the brunt of the impact on his shoulder, which considering his momentum, was not insignificant.

"_Finnegan!_" Jim shouted in a rage, as the older boy laughed and headed for the door. This wasn't over - it had barely even started - and Jim ignored Ruth's cries for both of them to stop as he got up and stumbled out into the hallway to give chase. Finnegan had pushed him too far, for too long, and there was _no way_ he was going to get away with saying things like that to his girlfriend, not when Jim was standing right there. Not a chance.

Though Finnegan had a head start, he didn't seem to be trying too hard to get away. He even paused, giving Jim a wave and a laugh, before he ducked out the front door of the dormitories. Jim followed, the blood pounding in his ears, paying no mind to the attention their chase was attracting from some of the other cadets. He was taking Finnegan down, and that was that.

But it wasn't going to be that easy. Finnegan was fast - he moved like a rabbit, changing directions to throw Jim off, turning down the narrow alleys between buildings, leaping small obstacles. Jim was in good shape, he could largely keep up, but he was running in a blind rage. He light have lost Finnegan on more than one occasion, except that Finnegan kept pausing anytime Jim got turned around or left behind, that obnoxious smirk and laugh spurring him on.

Finally, in the darkness of a lot behind the engineering workshops, Finnegan seemed to take his stand, setting his feet and waiting as Jim came at him. Just in time, Jim realized he was simply standing there, and skidded to a halt perhaps three meters from the other boy. Anger had left him unsteady and panting, while Finnegan just stood there, breathing heavily but still grinning.

"Came all this way, Jim-baby," Finnegan taunted him. "Now what're ya gonna do?"

It was then that Ruth's warning flashed through Jim's head again - Finnegan wouldn't start fistfights, but he would finish them. But in that moment of hesitation, Jim felt an explosion of pain as Finnegan punched him in the face.

Well, that decided it. Jim was all too willing to punch back.

When Finnegan came at him again, this time Jim ducked, grabbing him around the knees and letting Finnegan's momentum send him over Jim's shoulder. But Finnegan knew how to fight; he managed to roll to an unsteady crouch and rewarded Jim with an uppercut. While Jim was still stunned, he struck again, this time to the gut. Jim doubled over - and then when Finnegan came at him again, he was met by Jim's shoulder, quickly followed by a backhand across the mouth.

Finnegan was good. Jim could dodge most of his punches, and retaliate, but Finnegan was still getting enough blows in that Jim was becoming disoriented, and his battered body exhausted. If not for his anger, quickly burning out and being replaced by the high of adrenaline, Jim would have had to give up, but he couldn't. This was a battle, and he _would not lose_.

That was his intention, anyway, and he could hardly believe it when the back of his head thumped against the wall of the workshop hard enough to rattle his teeth, Finnegan pinning him there by his wrists, held above his head. Even gasping for breath, Jim still tried to twist his way out of Finnegan's hold, but his muscles had taken too much abuse.

He could take some comfort in the fact that Finnegan looked as terrible as he felt, bruises darkening one eye and a cheekbone already, blood dripping from his nose and the corner of his mouth. But that was a only a small comfort, because Finnegan was still smiling, almost manic, and his whisper didn't make him seem any more sane.

"...Did ya like that 's much as I did, Jimmy?"

"You're sick," Jim choked out.

"Sick?" Finnegan smirked. "Then I hope it's contagious."

Before Jim could figure out whether or not he should be worried by that, Finnegan's mouth was on his, and Jim's head thumped back against the wall again.

At first he was too surprised to react. He hadn't known what to expect, but it hadn't been this. But Finnegan's mouth was hot and demanding, his breathing harsh and heavy, and Jim didn't think it was the fight that made him feel suddenly weak in the knees. Finnegan's tongue - tasting of blood, and he wasn't sure whose - was forcing its way into his mouth, probing deeply, and Jim moaned around it in spite of himself. His mind was screaming warnings at him, but he wasn't sure he could have broken free to get away, or that he would want to.

"Like that, Jimmy?" Finnegan breathed, loud and hot against his cheek. "Ruthie ever kiss ya like that? Has _any_ girl ever kissed ya like that?"

There had to be some sort of smart reply to that, but Jim couldn't think of one; he just shook his head, panting. Before he could catch his breath, Finnegan's mouth was covering his again, just as demanding as before. He was right, Jim had never been kissed like this. There was a violence in Finnegan's kiss, and just as he had desired to pound Finnegan into the pavement, he wanted to return this violence, giving as good as he got.

Finnegan's hands were in his hair, pulling, as Jim pushed forward, his own mouth seeking and taking as it saw fit. Jim didn't even realize at first that Finnegan must have released his wrists, and that his hands were somehow on Finnegan's ribs, wandering down to his hips, winding around his waist. Finnegan's uniform shirt was riding up under the touch of his hands, and Jim touched a bare, firm waist, so different from the soft curves of a woman, and no less appealing. He moaned again as Finnegan's lips moved along his jawline, licking and sucking and biting, and his hands started to slide down into the waistband of Finnegan's pants.

Suddenly, Finnegan drew back, swearing under his breath. Jim slumped back, letting the wall hold him up as he tried to clear his head. He heard what Finnegan must have heard only moments later - voices, suggesting they look around this side...

"Can't be caught like this," Finnegan whispered, straightening his shirt and swiping a hand over his mouth. "Meet me here next week, baby, midnight - we'll finish this. No one watchin', just you an' me." And just like that, without waiting for an answer, he disappeared into the shadows between the workshops.

Jim followed, after a second, but couldn't tell exactly where Finnegan had gone. He couldn't go far himself, however, in the condition he was in. His body was weary, aching... and very much thought it deserved a reward for what he'd put it through.

He knelt there, hiding among the pallets of metal siding and industrial tubing, until the security guards had passed by, and tried to calm himself enough to walk back to the dormitory.

Ruth was waiting by the door when he returned, exclaiming over his injuries and how worried she'd been, but he shrugged it off as nothing. Even so, she demanded the right to care for him, and accompanied him into the bathroom.

Jim had to admit that it was nice, just sitting there on the toilet while she washed his face, gently cleaning away the dust and the blood of his fight. But he couldn't help feeling guilty at the same time; he'd nearly forgotten about the cuts and scrapes and bruises, after the fight had ended in a much more interesting way.

"What happened out there?" she asked quietly, after wiping the blood from his lips and his chin. "Did you win? Did he win, and then let you go?"

He shook his head. "We were interrupted, and he ran off."

She sighed. "He'll probably find a way to get back at you even worse, then..."

"...I don't know." Jim had a feeling he wouldn't, so long as he showed up again next week. But the question was... what exactly did Finnegan want to finish?

He thought about it after Ruth had left, and he took a long shower.

\---

Finnegan was still around. Jim still saw him more often than he should have, given their differing courses; he was clearly going out of his way to make himself known.

But he didn't _do_ anything. There was no pranking, no serious taunting. Just a smirk and a wave.

It was making Ruth nervous. "Not that I'm not glad that he's finally leaving you alone," she told Jim a few days later, "but it doesn't make any sense. I can't help but think he's planning something, probably something really terrible."

"If he is," Jim assured her, "I'll be able to handle it." Deep down, he was worried about the same. What was Finnegan intending to do on Saturday night? But he didn't dare tell Ruth, or she'd insist on going with him, and then he wouldn't be able to...

Jim was certain he didn't want Ruth watching, whether he and Finnegan were fighting, or... doing anything else.

He shouldn't have been thinking about the possibility of anything but fighting. He was with Ruth. Ruth was a wonderful girl, bright and lovely and giving. She was everything a man should want in a woman. But then, the taste Finnegan had given him was not something he would have wanted from Ruth, or any woman.

But he did want it, and Saturday couldn't come soon enough.

Jim excused himself from making plans that evening, claiming he needed some extra study time; his marks were slipping, what with him spending nearly every weekend out since they'd begun seeing each other. And he did in fact spend much of the evening studying - or trying. His mind kept wandering to his appointment later, and trying to convince himself that it made sense to go. Or not to go. He kept changing his mind. It was probably inevitable when he put his books away in favor of taking the opportunity to stretch and ready his muscles, looking out the window and wondering how Finnegan was preparing. Just before midnight, he changed into dark clothing, and started off towards the engineering complex.

He could see Finnegan from a distance as he approached, lying on his back beneath a lamppost at the edge of the lot, casual and carefree. He raised an arm as Jim drew nearer, waving to him before pushing himself up to sit crosslegged. "Glad ya could make it, Jimmy."

Regardless of how relaxed Finnegan seemed, Jim refused to let his guard down. Some of his week-old bruises still smarted. "What are we doing out here, Finnegan?"

"We're finishin' what we started," Finnegan said simply, easily rolling to his feet. Despite his casual demeanor, he was still hurting too - his left cheekbone held a purple blotch visible even in the harsh light. "That's what yer here for, right?"

Jim wasn't sure what he was here for, and as Finnegan began walking towards him, he tensed. "Are we going to fight?"

Finnegan held up his hands and shrugged. "Well, if ya insist!" The first blow, to Jim's nose, was too sudden for him to block.

He'd expected it wouldn't take long, however, and quickly recovered, cutting Finnegan's laughter short with a punch of his own, followed by a kick - which Finnegan caught and used to his advantage, twisting Jim's leg and pushing him away. Jim rolled as he fell, narrowly dodging the kick Finnegan aimed at him and positioning himself just right to sweep Finnegan's feet from beneath him.

It took a moment for both of them to get back to their feet, Jim eyeing Finnegan warily the whole time. Finnegan, on the other hand, was grinning that manic grin again. "Excitin', isn't it?"

"It's not boring, I'll give you that," Jim muttered, setting his feet in preparation to defend himself.

"Glad t' hear it."

When Finnegan came at him again, Jim was ready, and he blocked the punches easily, retaliating with a jab of his own when he saw an opening. It made Finnegan laugh, even as he rubbed at his jaw. "Not bad, Jimmy - yer startin' to get it."

"Get what?" Jim asked, still crouching in a defensive stance. Instead of answering, Finnegan attacked.

It was only after several more punches had been thrown that he finally responded. "Feels good, doesn't it, Jim-baby? Gets ya all worked up."

There was some truth to it - Finnegan was keeping him on his toes, the adrenaline was flowing. He felt powerful, despite the blows he'd taken; the blood dripping from Finnegan's nose, the way he momentarily clutched his side where Jim's foot had caught his ribs, were satisfying. Reluctantly, he nodded.

Finnegan's grin widened. "Then come on, baby - lay it on me. Just like ya been wantin' to."

Jim hesitated. Then, raising his hand to readiness, he found himself smirking too.

Finnegan was anticipating the punch, of course, but not the kick that followed. That didn't keep him back long, and he lunged right back as soon as he'd found his footing. Jim was ready to meet him, sidestepping the lunge to throw him, but Finnegan was too good to lose his balance completely, and simply turned, still grinning that wide grin. This time it was Jim who lunged at him.

As the fight went on, Jim began to tire, but he wasn't going to give up. Not when Finnegan was still grinning like that, through the blood running down his face. He could hardly even feel his own injuries, so caught up in the fight as he was. Even when Finnegan finally managed to knock him down, he simply reached out and threw his arms around Finnegan's ankles, yanking the other boy down with him and rolling on top. Finnegan wasn't done yet, though; he wrestled free of Jim's grip and got his hands on Jim's shoulders, turning them and throwing him down against the ground so hard that Jim couldn't suppress a shout of pain. There was no way he was just going to take that.

The two of them grappled and wrestled, panting, fighting for control, until Jim was more thoroughly pinned beneath Finnegan. Finnegan was holding him down with his entire body - legs tangled together, hands on his wrists, torsos pressed against one another - and then Finnegan's mouth was on his too. He could feel Finnegan was hard against his thigh, and he wasn't sure if it was that revelation, or if he'd been just as hard already but somehow hadn't noticed.

"Like it, don't ya, Jimmy?" Finnegan slid up, aligning their bodies better, and Jim moaned into the rough kiss as they ground together through their clothes. Finnegan's left hand had let go of his wrist, grabbing a fistful of Jim's hair instead, and Jim's free hand went, almost automatically, to grab at Finnegan's ass. Only moments later, he let out another shout as Finnegan yanked at his hair, pulling his head back, and Finnegan was laughing again. Wrenching his other hand free, he threw an elbow into Finnegan's face and took advantage of the momentary distraction it caused to roll on top of him again.

Finnegan was _still_ laughing, even as Jim straddled his waist, grabbing him by the collar with both hands. "You're insane," he managed, gasping for breath. But somehow, he didn't entirely mean it as a condemnation.

"Maybe so," Finnegan laughed, reaching up to grasp Jim's wrists. "So what's that make you?"

At another time, Jim might have had a witty answer for him. He might have wondered what was going on in Finnegan's head. But at the moment, all Jim knew was that he was more turned on than he had ever been in his life. "Maybe I'm insane too," he murmured, and jerked on Finnegan's collar, just so he could shove him down again, hard. Finnegan just laughed, until Jim shut him up by kissing him.

The two of them were locked together, in combat and in lust, each struggling for dominance - and in Jim's case, caring very little whether he succeeded, so long as Finnegan kept grinding against him like that, from above or below. There was no room for thought in their frantic, violent rutting, as they rolled over and over, throwing each other against the pavement. There was pain, but it mingled with the desperation Jim felt, and spurred on the anger that let him reciprocate. Finnegan wasn't laughing anymore, but he was still grinning through those open-mouthed gasps, and all of this seemed to combine perfectly, overwhelming Jim.

He didn't realize how close he was until the hand that had been on his forearm worked its way between them instead, opening his fly and drawing him out, jerking him roughly until he came.

He might have blacked out for a little while, he wasn't sure. The next thing he knew, he was still lying there, half underneath Finnegan, who was draped over the top of him. No longer actively pinning him, just lying limp, taking deep, panting breaths as Jim was doing. It might have been a little harder for Jim, with Finnegan on top of him, but he wasn't sure he minded.

Finnegan caught his breath - and giggled faintly.

Jim frowned, reaching up to rub at his head as reality began to intrude once more. He winced, feeling the fresh bruises there. He didn't understand what had just happened, not a bit. But...

Finnegan rolled to the side, pillowing his head on his own bent arm, pulling Jim onto his side as well by way of the other arm slung around him. Of course Finnegan was smiling, his ever-present smile was one of the things that made him so irritating, but this time it was no smirk. Just a lazy, contented, slightly sly smile, and as he gazed drowsily into Jim's eyes in the strange, harsh half-light of the streetlamp by the edge of the lot, Jim was struck, for the first time, by the realization that Finnegan _was_ a rather attractive man.

"Was fun, wasn't it?"

Jim couldn't say he hadn't enjoyed it, in a twisted sort of way. He was sore and filthy and breathless, but it felt right, like how he _should_ feel. And lying there, with Finnegan not taunting him or provoking him but just smiling at him, just as filthy and bloodied and breathless as he was, almost made at it feel like something that made sense. Even if the rough pavement was digging into his hip where his pants had ridden down. He had the feeling that it wouldn't have made anywhere near as much sense if they were lying somewhere comfortable.

Instead of replying, he asked the question he'd been wanting to ask Finnegan for months, ever since the year began - it just had another facet to it now. "Why me?" he asked. "Why all... this?"

"I dunno," Finnegan said bluntly, losing the smile. "Somethin' about yer pretty little baby face bugged me, from the first day I saw ya. Kept thinkin' about it." His arm released Jim, and his hand came up to trace along Jim's jawline. "Kept wonderin' if I could make ya look like a man."

"So you tried to get me into a fight."

Finnegan shrugged, his fingers drumming idly on Jim's chin. "That's how I like it."

Jim shook his head faintly. He wanted to say again what he'd said before - Finnegan was mad. But he'd come to understand it, at least a little bit, so maybe it wasn't so mad. Or maybe they were both mad. "So is that it, then?" he asked instead, pushing himself up to lean on one elbow. "Did you see me as a man?"

"Don't get cocky now, Jimmy." The familiar smirk returned, and Finnegan pushed himself up as well, getting to his feet. Finnegan was a mess, Jim thought, covered with dirt and sweat and blood and worse, his stomach damp and sticky as he tugged his shirt down. He probably looked at least as bad himself. "Yer gettin' there... but I'd like to see ya try again."

Jim was exhausted. At the moment, he wanted nothing more than a hot shower and perhaps some dermal painkillers for a couple of the worst bruises. But as he sat up, Finnegan didn't make a move.

"Whatcha think?" Finnegan inquired. "Want another shot at me?"

"Not today." But the answer in general, overwhelmingly, was _yes_.

"Not today," Finnegan agreed, pointing his finger to indicate the eye that was already swelling and darkening. "Wouldn't be able to last too long, would we?"

Jim found himself smiling a little, shaking his head in agreement.

"Let me know, Jim-baby," said Finnegan, turning and walking away, heading back towards the dormitories. "Just let me know. I'll be 'round."

With Finnegan's back turned, Jim was tempted to get up and tackle him, bring him down hard. The thought made his smile widen in spite of himself.

\---

He was right, he hadn't been in his right mind. He decided that the next morning when he woke up to all the pain that the adrenaline had hidden from him, and got up only long enough to get more painkillers before falling back into bed with the texts he had supposedly been reading the evening before, quite content to stay in until classes the next day.

And then, the clearest evidence that he was mad; his terminal beeped, and when he got out of bed, stiffly, to answer, it was Ruth. The look on her face when the video patched in and she saw him, the concern she expressed, that made him feel even worse.

"Finnegan and I got into it again," he explained, hoping he looked merely dejected rather than guilty.

"Why didn't you call me?" she asked. "I would have come over to take care of you."

"It was late - I'd just gone out for a walk around campus, to get some fresh air," he told her. "Besides, it's not as bad as it probably looks."

"And he just jumped you?" Ruth sounded disgusted. "Jim, if it's escalating like this, you need to tell someone. Pranks are one thing, but attacking someone in the middle of the night-"

"I can't report this," Jim said quickly. "I started it. He was pushing me, but I started it." Which wasn't quite true, but he _had_ shown up, knowing what was likely to happen.

And as for what else he'd expected might happen... he couldn't bring himself to tell Ruth. He probably should, and he knew it. But it wasn't as if he was _cheating_ on her with Finnegan, exactly. What had happened between the two of them was completely different than his relationship with Ruth, in every conceivable way. But even so, he decided it was never going to happen again. He didn't have any reason for it to happen again. Ruth was good to him, she was beautiful and intelligent, and her appetites were well-matched with his own. Making love with Ruth was natural and comfortable and sweet, like lying in a soft grassy meadow in the warm sunlight.

But every time he saw Finnegan - sitting beneath a tree outside his dormitory, just happening to walk along the same path between classes, giving him a patronizing wave or a sneer - Jim couldn't stop himself from thinking about lying on rough pavement beneath harsh artificial lighting instead.

He couldn't deny he wanted it again, that manic excitement, the rush of pain and power and primal masculinity. He wasn't comfortable with it - he knew that violence and domination was not what made a man a man - but he craved it nonetheless. Even if he thought Ruth might agree, and he was sure she wouldn't, he wasn't going to ask her. He couldn't imagine treating a woman in such a way, even if she herself was to ask for it.

Or, for that matter, another man. It was only Finnegan. And every time he saw Finnegan's face, that smirk of his telling Jim he could think up plenty of good reasons to start a fight, Jim grew more angry at him, just because it turned him on when he shouldn't be turned on. Finnegan's bruises had faded, just as his had, and Jim thought he deserved a few more.

Likely, they both did.

One day, Finnegan popped up while he and Ruth were having lunch out on the lawn. "'Ello, lovebirds," he teased, reaching out to muss Jim's hair. "Havin' a little picnic, are we?"

"Leave him alone, Finnegan," Ruth said stonily.

"Aww, protectin' yer baby boy?" Finnegan pouted. "Jimmy's gettin' big now, maybe big enough to speak for himself - what do ya say, Jimmy?"

"I say leave us alone, Finnegan," he repeated, refusing to even look at the man.

"If I don't?"

"You're not going to goad me into another fight," Jim told him. "Go harass someone else. Maybe someone who's not trying to spend time with his girlfriend," he added pointedly. "Maybe they'd enjoy your company more than I would."

"Though I can't imagine anyone enjoying his company," Ruth added.

"You've got no idea, sweetheart," Finnegan told her, as he turned to go. "No idea."

But a few minutes later, he reasserted his presence; Jim's communicator beeped, and he opened it to find a message displayed, with an arrow pointing off to their left. Jim looked up, and Finnegan waved from his own spot on the lawn, winking suggestively.

Saturday nights behind Engineering aren't much fun without you, baby.

"A message?" Ruth asked, as he deleted it.

"Nothing for a lady's eyes," Jim stated, and flipped the communicator closed.

Saturday night was spent with Ruth, the two of them curled up in each other's arms, but Jim's eyes kept wandering to the window, to the streetlights, and wondering if Finnegan was waiting beneath one.


	2. Chapter 2

Finnegan was everywhere, just like he used to be, smirking and laughing and taunting. It was driving Jim mad. Every time he saw Finnegan, he wanted to punch that smirk right off his face, regardless of where they went from there. But since it was the possibility of what it might lead to that made Jim most furious, he knew exactly what it would lead to. He knew, too, that if it wasn't for Ruth, he would have taken Finnegan up on it by now. After all, he was horribly tempted despite Ruth.

His relationship with Ruth was changing because of it. His mind kept drifting, his fantasies were no longer about her alone. The guilt tormented him. Jim didn't trust himself, and he hated Finnegan for that as well.

Ruth could tell something wasn't right, and one night she asked. "Jim, you've been so tense lately, so distant... Something's bothering you, and I want to know what it is."

He couldn't lie to her. She deserved better than that - she hadn't done a thing wrong. "Ruth," he began, taking her hands in his, "I don't want to hurt you. I swear it, and that's why I'm going to tell you the honest truth. There's..." But perhaps not the whole truth. "...someone else who's been occupying my thoughts."

The hurt in her eyes made him hate himself all the more. "I've been trying not to think about this person," he admitted. "I know this person could never be so good to me as you are, Ruth. But... I just _can't stop thinking_..."

The look in her eye changed, though, grew harder. "...Is this about Finnegan?"

That was enough to make Jim start. How could she have possibly-

"As far as anyone can tell, he's never hit a girl," Ruth continued. "And I'm not afraid of anything else he could do to me. He's already teased me and embarrassed me and interrupted our time together..."

"And all because you're unlucky enough to be dating me," Jim finished glumly. Which was another excuse he had thought of giving her, but he'd guessed her response if he were to try.

"I don't care what he does," Ruth told him. "I truly don't. You don't have to try to protect me."

That was exactly the response he'd guessed, and it was a shame. It would have hurt her less than the truth. "I'm not making it up, Ruth. I'm sorry, I've been... so confused. I still love you, I promise you that," he told her firmly. "I really do love you. I don't understand why I keep thinking about this other person, when you've always given me everything I could ask."

"So," she said, hesitant, "there really is another girl?"

Her face was falling again, and he gripped her hands tighter. "I'm sorry, Ruth. But I won't lie to you."

"I... appreciate that," she murmured, her eyes downcast. "I really do. You could have just... snuck around behind my back."

"I wouldn't," Jim assured her. "I love you."

She didn't look up, just staring down at their hands clasped together. "...I want you to be sure of that."

"I am," Jim tried to tell her, but she gently removed her hands from his.

"You know what they say... when you love something, you have to let it go," she said, finally looking up at him, her eyes wet. "I love you, Jim. If you can't stop thinking of another girl, then I need to let you have some space, so you can find out what you feel for her."

"I don't feel... _anything_ for her," Jim tried to protest. "Not the way I feel for you."

"If that were true, you wouldn't have bothered telling me." She bit her lip and turned to leave. "It's all right... just... go to her. Figure it out. And then come and tell me what you've decided."

"I don't want to lose you, Ruth," Jim said firmly, getting up with the intention of following.

"Well..." She looked back, just for a moment, and forced a brief smile. "We're young, Jim - this is only your first year. You can't be expected to know what you want, or who, already. I've thought about it a lot..."

Jim was almost insulted. What was that supposed to mean? Just because he was a couple of years younger, he was _expected_ to be fickle and unfaithful?

"So if you mean it, that you don't want to lose me..." she finished, "then I have faith that you'll tell me when you know for sure. I can wait, if it's for you."

"Ruth-" he tried again.

"I'm not breaking up with you," she told him. "I'm just... giving you permission. I don't want you to have any regrets."

What kind of fool was he, Jim asked himself frantically as the door closed behind her, for even _considering_ turning away a girl like Ruth for this... this _fetish_ of Finnegan's? Why had he said anything, why hadn't he just brushed it off when she'd asked about Finnegan? He was breathing too hard, and he dropped his head into his hands, trying to calm himself.

He _hated_ Finnegan. More than ever, more than even during the worst of his pranking, he wanted to beat Finnegan bloody. It was a Friday night. He might have a chance to do just that tomorrow night, and the thought made his blood burn hotter.

But then again, Finnegan had always forced Jim to play by his rules. It was about time he got a taste of his own medicine.

Jim knew what was going to happen as soon as he left his dormitory. The fact he'd been given permission only made him feel worse, that he was taking advantage of it so quickly, but it wasn't lust that drove him this time - at least, not the sexual variety of lust.

He knew which building Finnegan was in, though not the exact room number, and when he arrived, he walked straight in without hesitation, asking the first cadet he encountered. He got a strange look, but also an answer: second floor, last room on the left.

The door opened quickly after he knocked, and he didn't waste time, though he kept his voice low, so as not to attract anyone else's attention. "You and me, Finnegan. Outside."

Finnegan's expression had been startled when the door first slid open, but he recovered quickly, his face falling into that familiar smirk. "Lookit little Jimmy, trying to pretend he's a big man."

"Hardly." His voice was hard, and grim. "On the contrary, I'm sinking to an extremely childish level to deal with you."

"That so...?" Finnegan leaned casually on the doorframe. "So ya want me to come out an' play, is that it?"

"Something like that."

"Well, all right," Finnegan agreed, stepping into the boots just inside his door. "I haven't got any plans for tonight - might as well do some babysittin', right?"

Jim couldn't _wait_ until they were outside, to somewhere secluded, so he could beat the tar out of the man. But after they'd headed down the stairwell, out the back door to avoid notice, Finnegan turned to him and grinned. "If I'm playin' kiddie games with ya, Jimmy, I get to choose."

"You know more than one game?" Jim muttered, trying to keep his composure until they were clear.

Finnegan nodded. "How 'bout tag?" he suggested - and immediately took off running, letting out a hoot of laughter.

Jim ground his teeth. But what could he do, besides give chase?

Finnegan was fast, and agile. It was all Jim could do to keep him in sight, and sometimes even that failed, but Finnegan's laughter gave him away. Jim just kept heading for the flash of his silver uniform, the sound of that laughter, the occasional taunt, and thinking about how much fun it was going to be to pound his face into the dirt when he caught him.

In spite of everything, he found himself close to grinning as well.

Finnegan had led him across the campus, weaving in and out among buildings and monuments, hiding behind trees and in the shadows, before Finnegan took off across a large open unpaved strip by the shuttlecraft hangars, a tall fence to one side and well-lit concrete landing zones to the other. He had nowhere to go, and Jim knew this was his chance. He had nearly caught up, just before they got to the hangars themselves, and in one final effort, threw himself at Finnegan's ankles, wrapping his arms around and tripping him.

It didn't even matter that one of Finnegan's boots caught him in the neck as the older boy struggled to free himself. All the anger was rushing back, now that he'd caught Finnegan; he knew what was going to happen, and he thought of Ruth and the way she'd said it was all right, when they both knew it wasn't. Jim refused to let go, reaching up to grab Finnegan's shirt as Finnegan managed to turn onto his back, pulled him closer with one hand - and struck him with the other, sending Finnegan back into the dirt in the shadows of the hangar. Crawling up over Finnegan, Jim straddled his chest and punched him in the face, again and again.

It felt amazing.

But of course Finnegan wasn't simply going to take it; soon Jim felt a hand on his throat, squeezing. Not with deadly force, not just yet, but he was already winded from the chase, and the pressure was enough to make him wheeze and reach up to free himself. His own hands prying at Finnegan's fingers, he gasped for breath, and the pressure lessened. One hand up came up, ready to block, but the blow never came.

"Pretty intense tonight, Jim-baby," Finnegan panted, still flat on his back. "What's eatin' ya?"

"You," was the only response Jim could give, practically spat out. "I'm sick of seeing your face everywhere, I'm sick of your smile, I'm sick of _thinking_ about you even when you're not around - which isn't often enough. I'm sick of what you're doing to Ruth and I."

He stopped there, leaning forward, his own hands on Finnegan's collar, but only to steady himself. He was exhausted, he was miserable, and he knew _he_ was probably the one who deserved the bruises, not Finnegan. If Finnegan was going to fight back...

Surprisingly enough, despite the opening, Finnegan didn't make any move to attack, but just lay there beneath him as Jim's breathing slowed. "Girl trouble, is it?" he asked finally.

"Not that it's any of your business," Jim muttered.

"Not really," Finnegan conceded. "But I could give ya somethin' to do with trouble."

He laughed, quietly and still breathless, his dangerous smirk barely visible in the darkness. After a moment, Jim found himself answering with a dangerous smirk of his own.

It was him on his back in the dirt seconds later, but a well-aimed punch made Finnegan fall back enough for Jim to draw up his knee and kick him in the chest, freeing himself and giving himself time to get to his feet as Finnegan did the same. "C'mon, Jimmy," Finnegan taunted him as they circled each other, crouching in the shadows with hands up, poised for attack or defense. "Let's see what ya got for me tonight." Jim was more than willing to show him.

Finnegan was right; Ruth was forgotten in the exhilaration of the fight. All Jim's attention was focused on dodging and blocking and countering, watching for weaknesses. Every blow he landed was a small victory, every blow he took was incentive to fight harder. This was vitality, this was survival - everything else in the world faded to nothing next to the simple desire to _win_. And even that faded, too, when a false step led to Finnegan shoving him up against the wall, face-first - only to hold him there, grinding against him from behind and whispering in his ear about things that girls couldn't do for him. The reminder was only a momentary twinge of what might have been pain, had he not been hurting so much more severely everywhere else, and Finnegan's hands unfastening his pants distracted him from it entirely. He came over Finnegan's hand, and all over the wall of the hangar with Finnegan panting in his ear.

Finnegan's hands, now wet and slick, wandered up Jim's stomach lazily as the two of them rested against the wall, catching their breath again. "That what ya needed, Jim-baby?" he whispered.

Jim couldn't bring himself to answer aloud, but he nodded. It was.

When they'd recovered sufficiently, they simply adjusted their clothes, wiped their faces as well as they could manage, and started off in the direction of the dormitories again. Finnegan didn't say a word along the way, but he did turn to look at Jim the first time they passed under a streetlamp. His nose had bled significantly, and half his lower lip was all puffed up, in addition to the less glaring injuries, but he grinned at Jim. It was all so utterly mad that Jim didn't apologize, but simply grinned back.

And then, when they had gotten back to Finnegan's building, Finnegan pushed Jim ahead against the wall beside the door, only to lean in and kiss him, hard enough it caused Jim's own split lip to start bleeding again. Jim didn't mind, and grabbed Finnegan's shirt, throwing him against the wall and pinning him down for a kiss in turn. Finnegan giggled faintly into Jim's mouth, winding his arms around him, and Jim found his own hands rising to comb through Finnegan's hair, ruffled and occasionally sticky with half-dried blood.

"Thanks," Jim murmured when they parted.

"Anytime, Jim-baby," Finnegan replied, pushing himself off the wall. "Ya know where to find me."

Jim nodded, and headed back to clean himself up.

\---

It wasn't sustainable, and he knew it. He was no fool.

What they had couldn't be called a relationship. It couldn't even be classified as 'friends with benefits', since they hardly ever spoke aside from the occasional taunts and the challenges that drew each other out late at night, to the places no one would see or hear them. As far as outward appearances went, they were still enemies.

But enemies with a secret, and it was perhaps too obvious. Gary saw all the cuts and bruises, and kept trying to insist that Jim let him help, stick close by so Finnegan would never find him alone, but Jim declined. He assured Gary that he could take care of it himself - and pointed out that Finnegan looked just as bad as he did.

Never quite as bad in the mornings, though. Finnegan explained, one night - they only ever talked honestly at night, while they were on the way to some deserted place or while they were trying to catch their breath afterwards - the cadet in the room next to his was in medical, and gave him things from time to time. Nothing that had to be dished out by a medical professional with a prescription pad, but he had better things in his arsenal than most, Finnegan claimed. He didn't mind sharing, and although Gary was surprised when he found the medicine cabinet full of patches and pastes one morning, one look at Jim when he rolled out of bed convinced him it was a good thing.

Neither of them was going easier on the other. Though their fights were mutually agreed upon (or disagreed upon; at times, one of them would approach the other only to be told, disdainfully, that the other had better things to do than mess around) and highly anticipated, they were still, without a doubt, fights. At first, knowing there was no serious animosity, Jim tried to pull his punches, but Finnegan didn't, and Jim became so frustrated that he fought back for real. It was then that he realized that it really _wasn't_ as satisfying when they weren't giving it all they had. The lust and desperation that came afterwards were highly dependent on how hard his blood was pumping, how fast his heart was racing.

And to his surprise, a good battle could be had without animosity. He and Finnegan smiled at each other while they pitched each other into walls, tripped each other, grappled with hands on each other's throats. Finnegan was teaching him how to chain his moves together, so he could attack faster. He was showing Finnegan how to best use an opponent's weight and momentum against them; both of them were teaching purely by example, but teaching nonetheless. They acknowledged and complimented each other on particularly painful or effective strikes. They laughed at the blood and the sweat, the streaks of dirt and the grass stains. Finnegan had told Jim his first name, but Jim never used it, and Finnegan continued insulting him even when it was just the two of them.

Whatever it was that had made possible this unusual bond between them, Jim had stopped fighting with himself over it and simply accepted it. He knew no one else would understand - even he didn't quite understand it himself - but it was there, and at the moment, he reveled in it.

He hadn't quite stopped feeling bad over Ruth, though.

True to her word, she hadn't completely disappeared from his life. They didn't spend all their free time together anymore, but she called him a few days after the last time they'd spoken, just to ask him if he was doing all right, and he'd said yes. Since she'd called him, he wasn't especially insecure about falling into step beside her when he saw her around campus, just to say hello and talk a little bit. There was always that question hanging in the air between them, but the closest she ever came to asking was to say that she never saw him with anyone besides Gary. Jim wasn't sure what to say, except that he didn't think it would be a good idea to get serious with anyone at this point in time. It was coming up on the end of the year, there would be exams and simulations and eventually finals, and he had to be most serious about his studies. It was a reasonable answer, and one that didn't imply a decision for or against her, or anyone else.

But then she asked another question he'd been hoping that she wouldn't. It was his own foolishness that he approached her the morning after another of his outings with Finnegan - foolishness caused by an exceptionally good mood, perhaps, because it had been a long, drawn-out fight that eventually ended with Finnegan's face in the dirt, and a broad grin beaming up at Jim through the streaks of dust afterwards. Ruth, of course, did not have his knowledge of the outcome, and as Finnegan's medical assistant hadn't been giving him anything advanced enough to get rid of the worst bruises or heal the worst of the cuts, the look of shock that crossed her face when she saw his immediately told Jim that he'd made a mistake.

"Is Finnegan _still_ giving you trouble?"

Jim tried to shrug it off. "I wouldn't say he's giving me trouble... He tries, but he doesn't succeed," he told her with a confident smile.

"Jim, he's been bothering you all year," she pointed out. "If he's still harassing you, and actually _hurting_ you on a regular basis - and don't think I haven't noticed that you _always_ seem to be on the tail end of a black eye, or have a swollen lip, or something," she added. "Why haven't you told someone?"

"Because I can handle it," said Jim. "He's never seriously hurt me."

"He shouldn't be hurting you at all," she protested. "How does he even have the chance by now? Is he just taking you by surprise, completely at random?"

"Not exactly." Jim wasn't sure how he could explain without outright lying, however. "...I know his habits. But he's not going to scare me away from changing mine. Ruth, I can take it," he assured her, seeing her open her mouth to protest again. "Don't worry."

But she spotted him again next week, sporting fresh injuries, and continued to question.

If anything, he could assure her that it wasn't going to last much longer. The summer break was coming, and most of the students would be leaving for home. Or elsewhere, as Finnegan brought up the next weekend, while the two of them were walking across campus, to one of their favorite battlegrounds.

"Goin' home for the summer, Jimmy?"

Jim nodded. They weren't the only ones out late; other students were milling about, usually in groups, on their way to somewhere more brightly lit, occasionally couples on their way to somewhere they could be alone. Since Jim had stopped worrying about weekend plans with Ruth, Friday nights were the most opportune time, as no one thought anything strange about seeing two cadets walking around together so late, and their injuries had time to heal somewhat before classes began again.

"Me too." Finnegan fell silent again, and Jim thought he knew what he must be thinking. A few more weeks, and then...

He was wrong. "An' I won't be comin' back."

Jim looked up at Finnegan in surprise. "I'm gonna be servin' on a starship after graduation," Finnegan explained. "Middle o' August, they're puttin' me on a shuttle, sendin' me out into active duty. Nothin' really dangerous," he added, almost idly. "Just patrol... y'know?"

Jim didn't know what to say. It had never really occurred to him that Finnegan might be so close to graduation, and he'd gotten so used to these late-night meetings... They were unhealthy, they couldn't last, and he'd known it all along. But he'd grown so used to this routine, to Finnegan himself, with all his quirks...

Finnegan gave him a smirk. "Still talkin' to Ruthie, aren't ya?"

"Sort of." He did miss her, but the kind of affection he had for Ruth was completely different than this... _thing_ that he and Finnegan had.

"Looks to me like she's still into robbin' the cradle."

It was funny. Although it was pleasant to think about the possibility of having Ruth back, holding her again, making love to her, it paled in comparison to the way his heart had been pounding when he thought of Finnegan, anticipating their fights and everything that went with them. And besides... "What about you?"

Finnegan just smiled and shook his head, looking down at the path ahead of them. Again, Jim wasn't sure what he could say. "...Sean..." he began, awkwardly.

"Don't start with me," Finnegan told him disdainfully, giving him a casual sideways shove. "Li'l fairy-boy... Could at least act like a man." But then he paused. "Ya don't do half bad when ya want to."

Jim, recognizing it as the compliment it was, smiled. "If you're out there on a starship," he pointed out, however, "you're not going to be able to do this kind of thing. Even if you managed to find someone else, there's nowhere to go, too much supervision..."

"Not a big loss," Finnegan said with a shrug. "You're the only bloody one ever gave me what I needed anyway." He gave Jim another smirk. "T' be honest, I'd say I got lucky."

Maybe they both had. Both of them had known all along that however it had happened, it couldn't last. And now that it was ending, they knew it was probably never going to happen again, for either of them.

Maybe that was why, when they reached that spot behind engineering, in the shadows between two of the workshops, and Finnegan had set his feet, turning to Jim with that challenging sneer, Jim opted not to attack and instead just tackled him, dragging him down and kissing him.

Finnegan laughed, rolling him over and trying to hold him down, but Jim just grinned up at him and squirmed free to resume his position on top, pulling Finnegan's hair to position him for another kiss.

Jim considered, a little later, suggesting they find somewhere more comfortable. If they weren't going to be smashing into or through things, and there would be no shouts or grunts of pain, for once they might have taken to a bed. But this was so tenuous, so unlikely - he was afraid that if he acknowledged that it was different, that it would disappear - and so he said nothing at all as the two of them wrestled, not without force, but somewhat more gently than usual.

It _was_ different. There was no teasing or taunting or name-calling afterwards, as they lay together and caught their breath, and got their clothes back in order. They walked back in silence, Finnegan occasionally kicking at a loose rock in their path, and he just gave Jim a half-hearted smile and a wave before they parted ways. Jim stood there, watching after him for a few seconds, then turned back to his own dormitory.

"Oh, good," Gary observed when Jim entered their room. "You actually went out for a run on the weekend and only got dirty, instead of beaten to a pulp. I was starting to wonder if you had it marked on your schedule - 'Friday, eleven-thirty, find upperclassmen to beat me up'."

Jim chuckled a little, and headed for the bathroom, only to look in the mirror and realize there was nothing to patch up.

He felt a little empty as he showered, and couldn't decide which likely cause was behind it.

\---

It was back to business as usual afterwards. More bruises and black eyes, more cuts and scrapes and pavement burns to soothe and cover up as well as he could manage. There was no more sentimentality. They had indulged in it once, and though they never discussed it aloud, there was a mutual agreement that it wouldn't happen again. That just wasn't how their relationship worked. They were there to challenge each other, not comfort.

Even so, there was comfort there, and the last weekend in May, after graduation ceremonies, Jim could see it in Finnegan's eyes when they met outside his dormitory. Finnegan must have seen the same in his own. "Wanna drag this out a little longer?" Jim nodded, and Finnegan flashed him that smirk - the same one that Jim had found so irritating at the beginning of the year, and by the end of the year had become fascinating. "Well then... catch me if ya can, Jimmy!" Finnegan laughed, and in a split second, was gone.

He was still laughing, cackling like a loon, and that was how Jim knew where to go, following the sound with a grin of his own. Finnegan's laugh echoed through the campus, through the empty space between now-vacant buildings, and at times Jim was confused - only to hear a sound behind him, and turn to see Finnegan standing right there, ready to kick his legs out from under him and take off again. Or, after the first couple times, he turned and aimed a punch right where he knew Finnegan's face would be, then took off himself. Turnabout was fair play, certainly.

This was likely to be the last time they ever got to play this way, and neither of them cared about the odd looks they got, rushing past the other students who were out late, laughing like maniacs. If anything, they were probably assumed to be two graduates reveling in the end of the year, perhaps having drunk a bit too much by the way their steps were occasionally uneven. They carefully plotted their ambushes or their tackles, however, making sure they were out of the light, off the beaten paths - they both knew it wouldn't do to have someone call security about a fight. Definitely not this time.

Finnegan was the one who finally ended the chase, when Jim realized he wasn't being followed any more and turned back to look. Only a slight movement within the hedges that surrounded the Federation History building gave him any warning; Finnegan's arm snaked out from within and grabbed him, pulling Jim right through the thick brush, landing hard on the ground on the other side.

Finnegan was on top of him almost at once, landing one solid punch to Jim's face before he got his hand up to block and grab, bringing Finnegan's face down into a headbutt, which stunned him enough for Jim to roll free. He had scratches all over from the hedges - he suspected some of those bushes had thorns - and that was an interesting change from his usual injuries, but insignificant. Finnegan was the real threat, and he was laughing again, breathlessly complimenting Jim on the nice move. Jim barely gave him time to do so before yanking him down, trying to get on top himself, but Finnegan brought his elbow back into Jim's solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him. Jim could block the punches that followed, but didn't have the air to do anything more than defend, and then Finnegan was on top of him again - and Finnegan was so turned on already, just like he was - and rubbing a knee up between his thighs as he pulled Jim up by the collar to kiss him.

Jim moaned aloud, and that was all the opening Finnegan needed to get his tongue in Jim's mouth. Jim allowed it for a little while, his own tongue jostling it for position as his hands hiked up Finnegan's shirt to explore his back, and then he bit down. Finnegan dropped him with a muffled cry as he fell back, followed by a giggle as he wiped at his mouth with one sleeve. Jim wasted no time, and took advantage of that moment of retreat to shove Finnegan backwards. Finnegan's arms wound around him as he fell on top of the older boy, his mouth going to Finnegan's jaw, biting and sucking, and Finnegan squirmed beneath him, a quiet mewling sound escaping his lips. Half a year they'd been doing this, and Jim was still finding ways to make Finnegan make interesting new sounds. He didn't want to head off any other interesting sounds Finnegan might make, but Finnegan grabbed him by the ears, yanking him back and up into a kiss. Jim didn't fight it, just let his weight settle atop Finnegan, rocking them forward as Finnegan wrapped his legs around his back.

Of all the sounds he'd heard Finnegan make, the quiet sniffle wasn't one of them. And it didn't come from below him, but above him, which might have been the only reason Jim took notice of it at all - there should have been nothing at all above them. He jerked his head up immediately, turning it up to see...

"...Ruth," he whispered, gasping for breath. She was standing there, hands holding back what was left of the branches he'd come crashing through, staring down at the two of them with a crestfallen look.

"Jim..." she murmured. "I was coming to see you..."

Finnegan groaned below him, and not in a good way, his feet falling to the ground as Jim sat up straighter.

"...Then I saw you run by, chasing him..." She shook her head as if she didn't want to believe it. "I didn't know if you knew, he graduated, he's an officer... you'd get in so much trouble, Jim..."

Jim didn't know what he could possibly say. "Ruth..." he began, and could get no further.

"I'm sorry, Jim, I didn't know," she whispered in a rush, and the branches swished back into place as she retreated.

"No, Ruth, I-" Jim began, holding up a hand. ..._He_ was the one who was sorry, but she was already gone.

Behind him, Finnegan pushed himself up to a sitting position too. "Gonna go after her?"

Jim considered it, but what good would it do? There was nothing he could say that would change what Ruth had seen, and he hadn't been entirely sure what could have happened between the two of them anyway. Especially since he had, for the latter half of the year, essentially chosen Finnegan over her. Finnegan, and all the madness that went with him, over Ruth's sweet comforts.

And although he didn't exactly regret it, at the moment he hated himself for being the kind of person who couldn't regret something so utterly insane. The kind of person who could hurt a lovely girl like Ruth.

He shook his head, and looked back to Finnegan, who was just waiting. "So what now, Jimmy?" he asked.

As if Jim had any idea. He hated himself, he hated Finnegan for making him hate himself... No, come to think of it, he did have an idea.

He punched Finnegan square in the face, making him reel. But only for a moment, and when Finnegan's hand came away from his nose, he was grinning. "Yeah - that's what I thought," he agreed, getting to his feet as Jim did the same.

Once more they fought, and ferociously, as Jim took out all his frustrations and aggressions. There was no smiling, no taunting, nothing but the fight, and they fought until both of them were weaving, hardly able to stand. But there was no kissing afterwards, no sex. Finnegan slung his arm tiredly over Jim's shoulder, Jim dropped his around Finnegan's waist, and if the two of them hadn't looked like two drunk graduates chasing each other around the campus before, they surely would have looked inebriated to anyone who saw them stumbling back towards the student housing now.

"It was fun, Jim-baby," Finnegan mumbled, pulling him into a tighter hug for just a moment outside his dormitory. "Maybe I'll seeya again sometime... if ya man up and make it into space."

"Maybe," Jim agreed, half-muffled in Finnegan's shoulder, breathing in the smell of sweat and dust and grass and blood. He couldn't decide if he thought meeting Finnegan again, especially on a starship, would be a good idea, or a very bad one. "But I _will_ make it onto a starship. You can count on that."

"You come to my ship, I'll make it interestin'," Finnegan told him, planting a wet kiss on his cheek before letting go and stumbling towards the door. "Good luck, Jimmy."

Somehow, Jim smiled.

\---

The shuttles were departing for the transit stations all weekend, taking off into the sky above campus and disappearing into the distance. They kept catching Jim's eye, the white gleam like shooting stars shining against the darkening sky through his window as he spent the evening packing up in preparation for his own departure the next day. Ruth was on one of those shuttles, he didn't know which. And Finnegan...

He hadn't been planning to go and see Finnegan off anyway. That would have been absurd. But he kept wondering, nonetheless, if he was already streaking past into the distance, or still waiting at the hangars, maybe looking off to the side of the building and remembering as the darkness fell and the shadows grew deep.

Gary was in the bathroom, and stuck his head around the frame of the door. "Hey, you've still got all that stuff in the medicine cabinet. Gonna keep it?" he asked, smirking a little. "I mean, the way this year went for you, you might need it again come fall."

No, probably he wouldn't. But Jim hesitated. "Take anything you want," he offered. "But I'll keep the rest, just in case." One never knew.


End file.
